“Change the song, this one is sooo gay."  As soon as the words had left my mouth, I knew I'd regret them.  I suddenly sank into the fabric of my seat in Dad's 2003 blue Honda Civic.  As I waited for his response, my ears started burning.

"This song is so what, Heather?"  I couldn't tell if my dad was angry, or just messing around.  That's the thing about my dad, he's so carefree that you can never tell if something is truly bothering him.  He's the happiest man I know.  Which is nice, until something is actually bothering him.  Then, he can be almost scary.

"Nothing,"  I muttered, almost choking on my words.  We had already gotten into two fights that day, and I wanted to avoid another.  If I had actually hurt him with what I had said, we'd be in a screaming match the whole way to Costco.  The last thing I wanted to do was make Jason listen to us fight for forty-five minutes.  That would just be awkward.

Luckily for me, my dad just made some comment on half of my music being "oh so hetero" to prove his point. "Phew," I thought to myself, "another fight avoided!"  After a few minutes of uncomfortable silence, the car ride was actually relatively pleasant, including talk of high school starting in the fall and singing along to his Moulin Rouge soundtrack.

However, as we parked, I suddenly remembered why I hated visits with my dad.  My cheeks got bright red as I looked back at Dad and Jason.  "Do they have to do that? While we're in public?" I remember thinking to myself.  I stared at my feet as we walked through the entrance, feeling the stares and hearing the deafening silence.

Jason and Dad pretended not to notice, and that everything was normal.  Looking back, they might not have even been pretending.  This kind of reaction probably was normal for them. 

Although they didn't seem to notice, it was impossible for me not to.  The longer we stayed in the store, the hotter my cheeks got, and the more I just wanted to leave.  As we collected our last few items, I was rejoicing in my mind.  All I could think about was how badly I wanted to go home, and now I could!  As the cashier rang up our items, small talk was made, which seemed harmless.  That is, until we started walking away.

What happened next was very subtle.  If there had not been a pause in mine and Jason's conversation, it probably wouldn't have even been caught.  But there had, and it was.  As we walked away, the cashier mumbled those two stabbing words under his breath, "Fuckin' fags."    Dad and Jason stopped in their tracks.  An expression of hurt too great to even describe overcame my normally easy-go-lucky father's face.  Jason, who had just been laughing with me, suddenly looked like he didn't care if suddenly a bomb was dropped right where we were standing.  After a few seconds of just standing there, they started walking again, without saying a word.

"Did that really just happen?  Isn't there something we can do about this!?  We can write a letter!  We can get him fired!"  I was frantically whisper-yelling.  My eyes started burning as I started thinking about how I was actually embarrassed to be seen with them earlier. Who was I to be embarrassed to be seen with them?  They are some of the most wonderful people I know, and I was actually embarrassed to be seen with them!  I suddenly felt so ashamed of my selfishness.  

"It's not worth it," Jason's voice interrupted my thoughts.

 "What do you mean it's not worth it!?" All I could now think about was how much a man that had never even met these two people had just hurt them so much.  "He needs to know what that does to people."

My dad looked at me for a long time without saying anything.  The few seconds of traitorous silence felt like years.  I almost laughed with relief when he finally spoke the words I knew I'd never forget.

"Honey, if he doesn't know by now, then he'll never get it.  What's important is that you know. You get it.  Don't ever be like that man.  Don't hurt people just because you can.  Remember this, remember him, and remember me. Don't ever be like him."

The ride home was silent.  The entire trip, I thought of what my father had said to me.  I promised myself I'd never forget those words.  And even now, almost four years later, I still haven't.